et years ago had
they sealed themselves into those boxes? A thousand, ten thousand? Their
empire was long gone, yet here was an outpost still waiting to be
revived to carry on its mysterious duties. It was as if in Saxon-invaded
Britain long ago a Roman garrison had been frozen to await the return of
the legions. Buck was right; there was no common ground today between
Terran man and these unknowns. They must continue to sleep undisturbed.

Yet when Travis also turned away and went back down the aisle, he was
still aware of a persistent pull on him to return. It was as though
those eyes had set locking cords to will him back to release the
sleepers. He was glad to turn a corner, to know that they could no
longer watch him plunder their treasury.

"Here!" That was Buck's voice, but it echoed so oddly across the big
chamber that Travis had difficulty in deciding what part of the
warehouse it was coming from. And Buck had to call several times before
Travis and Jil-Lee joined him.

There was the circle-dot-diamond symbol shining on the side of a case.
They worked it out of the pile, setting it in the open. Travis knelt to
run his hands along the top. The container was an unknown alloy, tough,
unmarked by the years--perhaps indestructible.

Again his fingers located what his eyes could not detect--the
impressions on the edge, oddly shaped impressions into which his finger
tips did not fit too comfortably. He pressed, bearing down with the full
strength of his arms and shoulders, and then lifted up the lid.

The Apaches looked into a set of compartments, each holding an object
with a barrel, a hand grip, a general resemblance to the sidearms of
their own world and time, but sufficiently different to point up the
essential strangeness. With infinite care Travis worked one out of the
vise-support which held it. The weapon was light in weight, lighter than
any automatic he had ever held. Its barrel was long, a good eighteen
inches--the grip alien in shape so that it didn't fit comfortably into
his hand, the trigger nonexistent, but in its place a button on the
lower part of the barrel which could be covered by an outstretched
finger.

"What does it do?" asked Buck practically.

"I'm not sure. But it is important enough to have a special mention on
the tape." Travis passed the weapon along to Buck and worked another
loose from its holder.

"No way of loading I can see," Buck said, examining the weapon with care
and cau